Like a Bass out of Water
by ronXbouillabase
Summary: AU. C/B, not anything else. Post-2.14. Chapter 3!
1. Chapter 1: What happens at Victrola

**Like a Bass out of Water**

**A/N: Watched 2x14. Aw'flly morbid, guv'nor. Seriously, Blair is not Chuck's mommy!**

But regardless, it was meaningful, love how Blair held out her hand and Chuck took it. She is now officially Chuck's backbone. It's too bad we won't be seeing more hilarious C/B sexual tension, but w/e. Their relationship is more mature than that now. And we like it that way. Or do we….?

And so, vague fourteen-year-old trivialities aside, I wait greedily for the next episode. And the next, and the next…. To quote Patrick Star, "Keep 'em comin', Grandma!"

Okay, so this is AU, duh. After 2x14, Chuck continues to corrode himself, evading the clutches of Jack Bass and coming back to the city. Blair sees him in Victrola, yet again. You'll see, it'll all be obvious once you READ IT. : D

Stupidly tail-noting again, Blair's hair setup in the whole 'waking up' thing is supposed to be kind of like the last few minutes of Star Wars III, when you see the dead Padme. Natalie, you will be missed. Especially by Hayden. : D

Was in a very goth mood when I wrote this, I was listening to 'Apologize' by One Republic (the version minus the screeching of Timbaland, thank you very much), and I was all bummed out about Chuck and Blair, which is my perfect mood when I am going to write about them. Gets me in the zone to write.

Disclaimer: I only own the writing. : D

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Blair took a deep breath and opened the door. The intense heat of the club and the flashing lights hit her in waves of sound and color and discomfort. Still, she pulled herself through the vestibule and into the club.

She pushed past people, crowds of people, seas of people, and she did not care about them, they could all burn, except for one of them. She stopped in front of a coarse woman behind the bar counter.

"Can I help you?" She looked Blair over with a critical, scornful eye.

"Have you seen Chuck Bass?"

"Chuck Bass? The Waspoid who owns the place?" the woman said disgustedly.

Irritated, Blair reached into her purse and pulled out a hundred-dollar bill.

The woman tilted her head with surprising delicacy to a far corner of the club, where Blair could just make out his silhouette, and the collective silhouettes of a few women in tow. "Been there for a couple of hours. Had a few drinks."

"Just how much is a 'few'?"

The woman raised a too-plucked eyebrow, strangely graceful in her fat, coarse face. No, she wasn't a whore, but there was something shadowy about her just the same, the look of a hardened survivor with little morals and even less free time.

Blair pulled out another hundred-dollar bill.

"He's had 'bout four drinks, I should think."

"You _think_?"

"Can't say for sure." She turned around to polish the glasses yet again.

Blair threaded her way to Chuck's corner. There were, of course, multiple women scattered around him, one on his lap, one guarding his shoulder, one smoking a cigarette at his feet. At Blair's painful, poisonous glare, they walked off offended, all except the one on his lap.

"_Do I have to hurt you or are you going to go_?"

She left.

"Are you _drinking_ again?"

"My liquor is my liquor. Like I said the night previously, I own the place."

"Well, then. Drink up." She grabbed the bottle from Chuck's hand and held it in front of his face.

Chuck stared wordlessly.

"That's all you've ever wanted, isn't it."

He could not meet those black eyes.

"_Isn't it_."

He turned his head to the side.

"_ISN'T IT_!"

Her palm made rough contact with his chin. "Look at me."

She tilted his chin and he would still not look her in the face.

She let the bottle drop on the ground. It splintered.

"LOOK. AT. ME." She slapped his cheek with her free hand.

He looked at her. Her angry voice did not match the terrible sadness of her eyes. They were sadder than he had ever seen them.

But he just leered at her. "Go to precious Nathaniel, you held him dear once, why not now? Or to your Colony Club."

"How do _you_ know about the Colony Club?" Abruptly, she dropped her hand from his chin.

"Oh, _everyone_ knows about you and the Colony Club." Chuck gestured futilely with his fingers. "Old news, now. Really, you should keep these things a secret--"

"I left them for _you_!"

"Well, then. There's still time to salvage it, isn't there?"

"What do you mean?"

"They take applications from very few people. And they wouldn't want you to undermine their reputation. Publicly apologize. Tell them you were inebriated, or perhaps 'not out of your right mind'. Isn't that the damnedest phrase? Ever since you said it to Headmistress Quiller, it's been stuck in my not-so-right mind. I'm 'out of my right mind', and so I'm not responsible for any of my actions."

"Why _didn't_ you accept her offer? It was very generous. You smoking hash on school grounds--"

"But don't you understand, she took _pity_ on me. She took pity on the _poor_ Charles Bass, the _poor_ Charles Bass who just lost his daddy, the _poor_ Charles Bass who has to revert to smoking hash because of his _pitiable_ situation."

Blair laughed once, bitterly, thinly, and it was more like a gasp of pain tearing from her lungs than a laugh. "You don't have any _pride_. If you did, you would neat up your appearance. And come back to school, at least for the rest of the semester. And then become a successful businessman, if not go to college."

"That's self-pride. What I meant, about the Headmistress--"

"That's self-pride too, you selfish…." She was about to say _monster_, before she realized that that was exactly what he wanted her to say. It would help him hurt himself. "Chuck, please try." She took his hands in hers, the small, smooth palms against the rough, bruised hands. "Please try."

He raised his eyebrows and squinted his eyes.

She let go of his hands. "Why do I love you," she said at the ground, not like she was asking a question.

"You don't; now get out."

She looked up at him for a moment, then dropped her gaze again. His vision blurred suspiciously and he could not look at her.

"I do love you," she answered the ground gratefully, as if it had answered her. "I wish I didn't but I do. And that's why I'm going to help you."

Chuck gaped in stupid astonishment, his jaw hanging open. "How are _you_ going to help me?" He tried to inject sarcasm into his voice, and, unfortunately, succeeded.

But Blair ignored it. "Get up." She stood up and held her hand out to his.

He didn't take it. "Why should I?"

Blair shook her head, and slipped an arm around his shoulder, forcing his arm over her shoulder. Desperately, she pulled at him, and he got up.

She staggered at the weight, but somehow managed to hold him steadfast, thanks to his laboring as well. "You son of a Bass," she said slowly, groaning with the effort to keep him on his toes. "Come on, one step, now the other foot." There was an exit near the door, and she kicked it open with one foot. It led to a dimly lighted, very old, musty hallway, but Blair was blind to it.

They reached a dark staircase at the end of the hallway and Blair fumbled for the light-switch, but there was none. There was, however, a small oil lamp with a solitary light. As Blair's eyes adjusted to the light, she gripped the railing for support, pushing Chuck up one after every step she took.

There was a small second story, with several closed doors but, thankfully, miraculously, one open, leading to a small room with a solitary window. It provided a lovely view of an alleyway fight.

Blair pulled Chuck down and adjusted his limbs like a huge, grotesque Ken doll's. He sat limply on the bed, staring at Blair unquestioningly like a child.

While she lit more of the old-fashioned lights and closed the door, he tilted precariously and was about to sleep, full suit on and everything.

"Chuck," she whispered gently. He sat up with help.

She untied his shoes for him and unbuttoned his jacket, pulling it off in a burst of energy. She yanked off the tie and threw it impotently on the ground. Then, finally, she pulled the blanket over his shoulders and put him to sleep.

Real Chuck was hiding inside of Baby Chuck. He'd come out again. How soon, was anyone's guess.

O0...0O

Chuck woke up in the bitter, young hours of the day, the sun rising over the Manhattan skyline.

For a moment, it was blessed oblivion; he could barely remember his own name and where he was.

Then, like a tsunami, the flood of information hit him; he was the inebriated and scorned Charles Bass, chased after by his family and Jack Bass, the impudent opportunist, and Headmistress Quiller, and--

Blair was sleeping on the floor in a tangle of blankets, auburn curls spread out like something startlingly like a funeral pyre, her eyebrows slightly downwards in intense concentration, smooth oval face goddess-like in its perfection, like a Helen of Troy come alive.

She turned to her side, mumbling incoherently, opening her mouth and then closing it. A few rays of the as-yet dim sun illuminated a patch of her hair, glittering red-gold. Then she clutched the blanket with her arm as if grappling for it, as if it was her baby.

He valued the quiet Blair moments, when he was happy to sit and watch her most trivial movements and clutch it to his heart.

O0...0O

When Blair woke up, it was the most terrible _déjà vu_ she had ever experienced in her life.

She ran desperately out of the room, colliding with a stoned whore clutching a bottle of whisky. "Sorry," she stammered.

"No problem." The girl waved her off.

"Have you seen Chuck Bass?"

"Yeah, a year ago, he was watching this gorgeous girl on stage--" She peered at Blair's face, suddenly inquisitive. "Hey--was that _you_?"

"Yes." Blair swallowed so her fear would not come out in her voice. " Have you seen him?"

"Last night, you mean?"

"Yes."

The girl propped herself against a wall for support and took an unhealthily generous swig of her whiskey. "This morning."

"When?"

"Um…."

Blair clutched the girl by the shoulders, adrenaline pounding in her veins.

"This morning," the girl said hastily. "Six-ish. Woke up and saw the shadow pass my room."

"Did he say anything, anything at all?"

"He was on his cellphone. Tellin' some guy he was goin' to…."

"To where? To _where_?"

"I think it was Japan."

"_Japan_?"

"Nonono," the girl thought hard for a minute, "no, it was--the Palace Hotel! That was it!"

"The Palace Hotel? That was it?"

"He said he was going to stay in a secret floor, something like that, and then 'to throw her off my track'."

"Anything else?"

"Something about him 'being MIA', and how he'd return to managing the company, 'thank you very much'. It was sarcastic, though--"

"Yes, you--" Blair shook her head. "And?"

"And then how he'd be in control of 'the situation' soon, just 'give me time'."

"That it?"

"Yawp."

"Thank you." Blair felt nervously in her pockets for money, and gave the girl money, she could not for the life of her remember how much. Neglecting her coat and purse, only wearing a short-sleeved dress and slippers, she ran through the bar, oblivious to the early-morning stares and catcalls, and then stepping into the street, oblivious to the freezing Manhattan cold, she hailed a taxi.

"Where to, miss?"

"The Palace Hotel." She would get him, and save him from himself, and they would be fine.


	2. Chapter 2: The Glass Wall

**Chapter 2. The Glass Wall**

A/N: Aww, thanks for reviewing so kindly!

You jerks, assuming I'd make a second chapter! ::winks:: Anyway, I guess I could give it a shot.

Yes, there will be some Chuck chasing after Blair. In the next chapter. I mean, he has been totally dumping on her, and his sadness is no excuse.

As a side note, I was on Gossip Girl (which is, by the way, a great website, gives you tons of spoilers, they just posted a few for Gone With The Will 2.15) and I found the most gorgeous picture of Ed Westwick! Here is the link: gossipgirlinsider . com /gallery/ed-westwick-so-handsome/ (Sorry, I had to space it, otherwise FanFiction . net does its weird thing about hyperlinks)

It is definitely worth checking out. My absolute favorite picture of Ed.

So anyway, on to the chapter!

As tailnoting again (seriously, they should hand out tickets for tailnoting, then I'll stop): I was listening to Beyonce's Ave Maria (beautiful, beautiful) when I wrote this, so it is slightly more upbeat. Lovely for C/B.

Disclaimer: All The CW's/Cecily Von Zieglesar's,

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The hotel clerk looked her over disdainfully. "Are you reserved at this hotel, ma'am?"

"No," Blair snapped. "I'm _Blair Waldorf_, and I would like to see Charles Bass--"

"Yes, and I'm the King of England, and I would like to see Napoleon."

"Reality check, the kings of England are long gone, Napoleon is dead, and I am _Blair Waldorf_ freezing my ass off! Now get me to him now!"

"_Fine_, I'll call him and ask if he needs to see you--"

"That won't be necessary," Blair said hastily, pressing a random button on the phone behind the counter. "He knows who I am, I've been here many times before! My whole grade has had parties at this hotel! Don't you remember me?"

"I'm new here," he said coldly.

Blair shook her head and reached deep into her pocket, pulling out an indiscriminate number of dollar bills. "Whoops, look at that. Must have dropped them. How kind of you to return them to me. Why don't you keep them as a reward," she said, albeit sarcastically, in one breath.

The clerk raised an eyebrow and pulled the money towards him. "You have raised my deepest sympathies, Miss Waldorf. Mr. Bass is in an underground floor, so when you're in the elevator, press the Lower Level button and the Emergency button at the same time, twice, and you will be at his private floor."

"Thank you so much," Blair said, sugar oozing from her every word, and departed for the elevator.

The elevator opened onto a hallway, considerably cleaner and more tastefully decorated than that of the night previous. It was obsessively cold in there, and Blair found her teeth chattering and her fingers freezing over as she hugged herself to keep warm.

She made her way through the labyrinth, left, right, left, right, until she turned and reached a heavy-looking set of polished oak doors. She knocked on them.

A maid opened the door. "Mr. Bass is not taking visitors at this time."

"No, I'm not a--" Blair had a flash of inspiration. "I'm his…." She trailed off delicately. "_Entertainment_."

Considering Blair's revealing, knee-length dress and apparent good looks (in time, the maid would be able to distinguish Wasp looks from whore looks, but alas, she was unable to then), the maid let her in. "Right this way." Blair followed her, slippers clacking in mute protest against the marble floors, to yet another highly polished door.

Chuck was sitting in one of his stupid Asian-silk bathrobes, the kind from really bad seventies James Bond movies, but of course, he made it look good. The room was filled with the corrosive stench of smoke, and indeed, Chuck was smoking a cigarette and frowning in concentration over a paper.

The maid closed the door behind them, and Chuck still did not look up, although his mouth tensed at the sides. He knew she was there.

"Hey," she said slowly.

He looked up at her then. His face was smooth now, the hollow cheeks reasserting themselves, the hair slicked-back and clean. The disturbing thing was the lack of Chuck Bass-ness to it; the impudent grin was gone, the look of amused interest. He looked bitter, gloomy. Like something was eating at him deep inside.

"What are you doing here?" he said abruptly, coldly. He took in her disheveled state. "Why are you _here_?" He was so disturbed he forgot to think of such details as _how_ she got there. Or perhaps he didn't care. What Blair Waldorf wanted, Blair Waldorf got, no matter what it took for her to get it. A fact surely he, in tune with every last nuance of her personality, knew.

"I came to see the upholstery," she said facetiously. "Honestly, Chuck why do you think I'm here?"

Chuck blinked twice and looked at the perversely round vase in the corner of the room.

"I'm not going away."

More silence, awkward silence, painful silence cutting at her insides. Chuck stood up.

"Blair, I--"

Blair strode across the room and placed a hand on his arm, and tried to meet his eyes.

She didn't know how beautiful she looked; therein lay the beauty. Her hair was messy and her mascara was smudged and her dress torn, but it looked terribly romantic on her. The bottom curve of her sensitively-edged pink mouth was trembling with suppressed feeling.

"I don't want to hurt you," he whispered.

"You're not." Her hand hung on tighter. "You know I love you. Both of us selfish and spiteful, and we always had to tear each other to pieces with our words, our hateful words, and yet--the feeling was always there. And it seemed we were always ready for each other at the wrong times, always struggling at the wrong times--"

He looked far away, but he felt her hold on his heart. He swallowed.

"And now I'm ready for you. I--" Her voice took a hoarse turn. "I don't know about you. But whatever decision you make, let it be made not because of your fear of me getting hurt. I don't care. I will risk it."

But he needed to protect her. He had meant what he wrote that night. _I'm sorry for everything. You deserve much better. Don't come looking for me_.

He knew, somehow, that he was doing the wrong thing, but he really did love her, and he needed to protect her from himself.

"I, I--"

"You do _care_--don't you?"

"No."

"You're lying!"

"I am not." He turned to her a face smoothly devoid of emotion. "Now please, leave. You are making a fool of yourself."

The reality sank in and Blair's face changed from one of dumb disbelief to anger and sadness, as her face grew red. "You're lying," she repeated stupidly, but with less conviction. Then she noted the look on his face, like he was swallowing something more bitter than poison. "You _are_ lying! I know it, I--"

He raised his eyebrows coolly. "Whether you choose to stay here and argue it is none of my affair."

"Chuck, please--"

Her face reached out in supplication. He threw her arm off and sat down.

Blair looked down, and her eyes grew moist and red. "Please," she said rustily.

"Missy," Chuck called, and the maid came. "Please escort Miss Waldorf outside and bring her home in a taxi."

"Yes, sir."

Blair stood frozen, rooted to the spot.

Missy pulled her gently away, and it was like dragging a zombie.


	3. Chapter 3: Dry of Eye

**Chapter 3.**

**A/NWant to continue this. Sorry for the wait. : ( Probs the last chapter.**

**This is a pretty dramatic chapter! During the part Blair gets angry, my face turned all red, I'm not sure why….**

**And I know this is pretty stupid, but when Chuck says 'for the record', I was thinking about the Britney Spears documentary of the same name. I don't know if any of you can relate to this, but I saw the trailer for the documentary in a movie theater, and Britney was smiling in a way I think was supposed to be 'friendly' but instead showed just how much work was done on her teeth….and then she blew out the candles on her 'birthday cake' in a way that she tried way too hard not to be sexy about. She looked like a five-year-old blowing out candles. It Was WEIRD….**

**I know I sound crazy, but I am currently suffering from IDS (Ipod Deprivation Syndrome), and it is driving me CRAZY.**

**The 'if you want to keep us together, nothing can tear us apart' thing comes from 1x12. I think Nate said it.**

**Disclaimer: All The CW's/Cecily Von Zieglesar's. And I do not own Michael Kors designs, sadly.**

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**Three Weeks Later**

"Good afternoon, Dorota," Blair said dully, coming into the vestibule of the apartment, Kors clogs clanking unhappily.

"Good afternoon, Miss Blair," Dorota smiled strangely.

"What's going on?" Blair asked suspiciously. She trudged upstairs to her bedroom, and yanked her coat off angrily, throwing it helplessly across the room, where it landed with a flat _slap_ just underneath her mirror. This was her first day of school, the first day she wasn't 'sick' enough not to go. And she'd forgotten how badly it sucked, the long, boring classes, having to smile at her minions so they would do as she told them to do. And there was no--no--_him_ to cheer her up inwardly with some kind of snide, perverted comment that made her feel gorgeous despite everything.

Tears started in her eyes, and she blinked rapidly and looked out the window. She threw herself on the bed, throaty sobs coming from her lungs.

_Why didn't he love her?_

_Why did he have to go?_

_Why couldn't he stay?_

_Why couldn't he stay?_

She found slight comfort in the creamy, cold smoothness of the pillows, how they massaged her hot face and kept her within sanity.

Even Serena could not understand--could _never_ understand, as loving and as sympathetic as she was. She saddled herself with faithful guys, guys who you could rely on. Blair always needed an extreme, someone spectacular and handsome and rich, with some kind of grand quality to them. With Nate there had been that feeling that she was gong up a marble staircase and he was going up the staircase parallel to hers; he was the WASP prince to her WASP princessness. Marcus had been more of a toy than anything else, but a washily handsome, titled toy.

Chuck was above and beyond all of them, probably wealthier than both of them, handsomer, but that wasn't why she fell for him. He was just like her.

And she knew he did _care_, but--

And then he just--threw her away! He would have given anything for her, she knew that. It was illogical like being kicked in the head, and the ensuing jumbled rush of information in your brain.

"Blair?"

The whisper came so softly, so quietly, she thought either she was hallucinating or Dorota was calling for her distantly. But no, the whisper was in close proximity to her, she could hear it.

She turned around, slowly, disbelievingly, and faced Chuck.

He looked like he had the few days between the Snowflake Ball and the Funeral, except he had lost weight. "Hi," he said slowly.

"Hi."

"Blair, I need to tell you something."

"If you need morale--"

"I got up at three this morning, through the haze of several hundred very drunken men in a Thai bordello, and flew to New York. In the meantime, I did not consume any liquids or food, and I did not sleep a wink. So please, you owe it to me to let me explain."

"Oh, like you're the only one who's gone through stress, Chuck. This was the first day in a string of blank, desperate days, that I felt I could get up and go to school. Do you know what it was like?"

"Blair, I--"

"_Do you know what it was like_?" Suddenly, she was on her feet, screaming tautly in a voice that did not seem to be her own, but rather, torn from some wrench digging deep into her inside. "_Waiting_ for you, even though I knew you were gone, barely remembering to breathe, killing myself slowly every time I remembered you. I was beyond crying. I was beyond speaking."

Chuck sat down lamely on the floor, and she registered in some cold outward trench of her mind that he was very tired and very sick, but she couldn't force herself to care.

"I told you I _loved_ you." She felt better than if she had slapped him in the face. "We'll keep it in the apst tense, then. Because I don't _love_ you anymore, Chuck Bass, I _hate_ you!"

He could only watch her, eyes red and miserable, mouth agape, as she threw her fist down on her bedpost.

Then her anger went away quickly, to be replaced with a surge of pain. Had her fist a mouth, it would be screaming. She felt like she had put her fist in fire, or on fire--her mind was in no state to think about logic right now--

Chuck got up with effort, how much effort she did not appreciate, and placed her bruised hand in his own. The coldness of his touch smoothed away some of the burn, and suddenly she felt very weak. She started to cry again, in babyish, hysterical gulps. She threw her head down on the pillow.

He sat awkwardly on the other side of the bed, still holding her hand, staring at her miserably. "Can I please explain?"

Through her hazy vision she saw love in his eyes. "Yes," she chocked out.

"I--The truth is, I did love you the whole time, even when I was rejecting you. My self esteem wasn't at its usual inflated heights--"

She was too miserable to laugh, scornfully or otherwise.

"I was at rock bottom. I felt like I didn't deserve you. I felt like I would abuse you further, and I knew that, if I old you how I really felt, you would just grip me tighter. And I only abuse the people I love."

"I'm sorry," she stammered out.

"I love you. For the record."

Blair's heart surged.

"And I was scared, scared that you would throw away your future and everything for me, and I'm not worth anything. Never have been, never will be."

"You're worth everything to me."

"Yes…I realized that, and I thought maybe, I could make you happy after all. Saw the look on your face when you left, and I didn't want to be he cause of that, I could never be the cause of anything so miserable on your face. So I thought for a while. I went to the filthiest places in the world's entire organized civilication, and I corroded myself even more. And then I realized I should be getting back to you."

Blair took a deep breath, overwhelmed at the emotional rollercoaster she had just taken.

"So, I'm sorry."

Blair looked at him. Trying desperately to be devoid of emotion.

"Can you forgive me?"

She bit down on her lips until the blood ran. "I know I said I hated you. But I was so hurt and confused--I didn't _understand_."

"And…."

"And what?"

"And nothing. Do you forgive me?"

Blair breathed out. "Yes, and I'm _sorry_…."

"Maybe we have a shot."

"Whenever one of us is ready, the other isn't, and then something stupid gets in the way--it just isn't _fair_." Blair could not believe she was saying these things, but she needed to. "I don't want to risk my heart again and again. I don't know if I want to take the chance."

"Blair, I understand you have misgivings about it. But I know we're meant to be…."

"Meant to be…."Blair gave a sad, sarcastic laugh.

"If you want to keep us together, nothing can tear us apart."

Blair nodded slowly.

~fin~


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